


i want to catch a love and make it stay

by harukatenoh



Category: Hyouka & Kotenbu Series
Genre: Chitanda Eru/Ibara Mayaka - Freeform, Graduation, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-18
Updated: 2016-04-18
Packaged: 2018-06-02 23:34:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6587725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harukatenoh/pseuds/harukatenoh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Classics Club are graduating, and Houtarou has to learn how to navigate change, navigate endings and beginnings. Satoshi has to learn how to navigate packing things up, tying up loose ends and leaving. They both do so with mixed results, and end up meeting somewhere in the middle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i want to catch a love and make it stay

**Author's Note:**

> this is............. way longer than i thought it would be. holy shit. 
> 
> anyway i love satoshi/houtarou and nothing on this entire earth will ever convince me that satoshi wasn't in love with houtarou. nothing. not a single thing.
> 
> dedicated to henry <3 sorry for the angst
> 
> work title is from long haul by voxtrot.

Houtarou is perceptive. It’s a trait that everyone acknowledges, his skill in observing things and being able to pull conclusions from them often celebrated.

So, it’s unsurprising that Houtarou almost immediately notices the strange way Eru and Mayaka have been acting, easily telling that they’re hiding something from him. What _is_ surprising is that if they are hiding something, they had thought that Houtarou wouldn’t notice. Eru and Mayaka both know him better than that, he knows, so he comes to the conclusion that whatever it is, he’ll find out eventually.

He doesn’t really mind that. It means less energy expended on trying to find out. The only thing that bothers him about the situation is the slight tug of curiosity he feels under his skin, the edge of anticipation, like an itch he can’t quite scratch.

And so, when he walks into the Classics Club’s room and is greeted by sideways stares from both Eru and Mayaka, he thinks _today’s the day_ and smiles softly as the irritation under his skin subsides.

“Oreki,” Eru says in way of greeting, the word measured and reasoned. Mayaka offers no greeting, the only thing given being a glare that’s too offset by something that looks like concern to do any damage. Houtarou wouldn’t have been phased had there been any venom in the look anyway.

Eru smiles at him and pats the seat beside her, a copy of an old newspaper spread on the table. Houtarou gives it a once over, eyes locking onto the subheading that reads _Kamiyama High_ , and takes a seat. Eru starts talking, pointing at the paper with the usual amount of enthusiasm she always has, and Houtarou can tell that she’s trying. He can tell that something is building, can tell Eru is trying to act normally in its face; always trying to keep them together, keep the four of them going.

With that thought, he’s tipped off to one of the factors in the storm that seems to be building.

Satoshi Fukube is nowhere to be seen in the room, he’s been nowhere to be seen for the past week almost. It’s true that college and uni applications have been keeping everybody busy as of late, Houtarou barely getting any chance to see any of his classmates, but Satoshi’s absence had been more than warranted.

Houtarou tugs at his fringe.

He doesn’t notice that Eru is calling his name, that Mayaka’s gaze is on him, that the door has opened until somebody sits in front of him. His eyes snap forward and Satoshi comes into view, Satoshi who he hasn’t seen for almost four days, Satoshi who is smiling in a way that makes Houtarou pause. It's too tight, an expression forced out and pulled at the edges.

Satoshi is a better actor than this, Houtarou thinks.

“What? No greeting for me, your four-days-absent best friend?” Satoshi says, and the look on his face is gone, replaced by his usual rosy smile. If it had been anybody but Houtarou, the slip up probably wouldn’t have been noticed at all.

Houtarou sighs, releases the lock of hair between his fingers and picks up his book again.

“Where have you been?” He asks, eyes wandering back to Satoshi despite his efforts to keep his gaze concentrated on the book. Satoshi is still smiling.

The boy tilts his head to the side, eyes sparkling like they do whenever he gets an idea. Houtarou feels the anticipation start up again, stronger this time, and he grimaces slightly. To be this curious, he’s been hanging around Eru too much, clearly. Leaning over the table, closer to Houtarou, Satoshi says “I’ve been preparing.”

Mayaka, who hasn’t looked at Satoshi or Houtarou ever since former had walked into the room, glances sideways at the boy. Careless. Houtarou thinks he’s halfway to figuring out the mystery already.

He feels the weight of obligation dampening the room, so with a soft sigh he asks “For what?”

 _It won't be long now_ , he thinks.

Satoshi looks outside, his interest not on Houtarou for the first time in the afternoon.

“Houtarou, we need to talk.”

Houtarou grimaces at the delivery, wondering whether Satoshi had been watching any romance dramas lately. Still, he stands up, aware of Eru and Mayaka watching him, aware of Satoshi not watching at all.

He stands for a few seconds, waiting for direction from Satoshi as it comes too late. Satoshi turns away from the window with a quick apology and grabs Houtarou by the wrist, walking out of the room purposefully.

They walk for a while, down the corridor and down and past the stairs, until they're standing at the exit to the school. All of the purpose Satoshi had possessed when walking out of the room vanishes, leaving him looking uncertain for a brief few seconds, before he makes up his mind.

He pushes open the door and as he walks out into the snow covered school grounds, Houtarou watches him go and regrets leaving his coat in the clubroom.

He follows Satoshi without complaint anyway.

Satoshi has stopped, in no particular spot, hands shoved into his pocket. Houtarou takes his time in catching up, the chill of the air dulling his movements.

He comes to a stop beside Satoshi and asks “So, what did you want to tell me?”

Satoshi looks up at the sky, distant and musing.

“Do you remember that Valentine's Day?”

Houtarou knows which one Satoshi is talking about instantly, and the memory makes his face pull down in a slight frown.

 _How could I forget_ , he wants to say and doesn't. “Yeah,” is what he says instead.

Satoshi laughs softly.

“Ibara and I only lasted a month. Exactly.”

Houtarou thinks, if he cared to ask, Satoshi could give him the exact minute and second Ibara had ended the relationship. That is the kind of detail Satoshi retains. He doesn't care to ask. He doesn't like to think about it much.

Satoshi says “A lot happened that day, huh?” and Houtarou wants him to stop stalling, wants this storm to break so the electricity in the air and under his skin will subside.

Houtarou replies again with “Yeah.” short, curt, as distant as Satoshi is being.

An unfair trade, really.

Then, Satoshi looks at him, _finally_ , and his eyes seem to brighten.

“You know, when I said I used to be obsessed with winning, I was lying.” He says, hands shoved into pockets and an almost wistful smile on his face.

Houtarou shrugs slightly. “You seem to lie a lot about the things surrounding that topic.” The comment isn’t with ill meaning and Satoshi seems to understand that, letting his smile grow wider.

“Ever wondered why?”

The question hangs between them, and it’s unfair because _of course_ Houtarou has wondered why. He’s wondered and theorized and landed at impossible conclusions, and he’s only a little above admitting that he’s annoyed about it.

Annoyed that despite everything, despite the years and days and minutes they spend together, Houtarou can’t figure out this part of Satoshi.

“Yeah,” Houtarou admits finally and Satoshi’s eyes light up, reminiscent of the way they did in their childhood when he had just won something. Houtarou wonders what competition Satoshi is winning this time.

“I wasn’t obsessed with winning. Getting built up every time I won and knocked down every time I lost, yeah, that was _plain_ , but it wasn’t boring.” Satoshi isn’t looking at Houtarou anymore, instead forwards, towards the flakes of snow in the distance.

“I was obsessed with winning against you.”

Houtarou turns to look at Satoshi sharply.

“I was obsessed, if we’re still using that word, with a lot of things regarding you.”

There's a part of Houtarou’s mind, the one that is hell bent on solving this mystery, methodically piecing the bits of the puzzle together as Houtarou takes in the words. His breath is fogging up the air in front of him, obscuring his vision for a brief second before disappearing.

Satoshi is still there, not looking at him, when the white leaves his vision.

“What?” Houtarou almost snaps. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Satoshi turns to look at him, and the way he smiles tells Houtarou that Houtarou already knows or has already figured it out, the sad, expectant look on Satoshi's face. And the puzzle clicks together, the part of his mind rejoicing and relishing in the discovery. The rest of him feels strangely numb.

“You're confessing to me.” Houtarou says and he thinks he sounds breathless, the air in his lungs caught somewhere else. The competition had been Satoshi against himself, a challenge for the boy to complete.

Houtarou, the collateral damage.

Satoshi laughs again, a different laugh from the usual one and Houtarou wonders if this is what Mayaka had to hear when she had broken up with Satoshi.

“If only it was as simple as confess and reject,” Satoshi says and Houtarou ignores the word _reject_ with a bitter taste in his mouth. Nobody has been rejected yet, he doesn't say.

This mystery hasn't been solved.

He wants to say something but something stops him, always something stopping him. Satoshi has his back to Houtarou and he wants to call out, to reach out.

“Anyway,” Satoshi says, briskly changing the subject, “that wasn't what I brought you out here to say.”

Houtarou agrees. The mystery still goes on. He’s almost glad that they’re moving on, the words unsaid left up in the air. He doesn’t want to hear anymore about it.

“What I wanted to say…” and there's even more hesitation in Satoshi’s voice than before, and Houtarou thinks _what could possibly phase me more, now._

“I got accepted to a uni. In America. Fashion design and film studies.”

Houtarou gulps as everything fall into place, shifting like age old doors opening up after years of being ignored, of being brushed over. The looks from the other club members. Satoshi’s preparation. Everything.

“America.” Houtarou says and he knows he should say something else, congratulate Satoshi on his achievement. Anything.

Satoshi's hands are out of his pockets now, and Houtarou can see how they're clenched into fists.

_University in America. That's a long way from home, Satoshi._

_That's a long way from me._

Selfish. That's what Houtarou feels like, as he wishes he could grab onto Satoshi and sit him down, make him stay.

In his mind, he sees Satoshi sitting in that plane as the clouds and snow swirl around it, hiding it from Houtarou. Satoshi is smiling as he fades from sight and no matter how much Houtarou tries, he can't see him anymore.

The plane leaves a trail of sunflower petals as it goes.

“Houtarou.” Satoshi says and Houtarou snaps out of it. Satoshi is still here.

“When are you leaving?” Houtarou hates how level his voice sounds, wonders what would happen if he lost his temper. He bites his lip. That wouldn’t be very good.

“The day after graduation.” Satoshi says quietly, voice low and gaze cast downwards. Houtarou doesn’t know where to look, up at the sky that Satoshi will be flying away in, down at the ground he’s walked all his life or Satoshi, a little ahead of him, _always ahead of me._

Graduation is in two days. Houtarou counts it out on his fingers.

“Three days.” He says. “You’re leaving in three days.”

Something blooms inside of Houtarou, some ugly and wronged and red, and it takes the breath straight out of him.

Houtarou can count the times he's lost his temper at Satoshi on his hands. None of them had been enjoyable encounters, he’d never gotten a single inch of satisfaction from it. It’s hard to feel anything but shitty about kicking a guy who’s already down, and despite what it seems, Satoshi is often down.

Still, they had been necessary outbursts. Satoshi, like Houtarou, tends to get tunnel vision. He’d get scared, selfish, he’d run and make excuses. Houtarou knows the pattern all too well and the job is left to him, the best friend, the confidant and the constant, to snap Satoshi out of it.

It’s the problem with being this close to Satoshi - he’s left to do what no one else can. It’s the problem with being too close to Satoshi.

“You waited until now to tell me.” Flat, blank, empty. The words are not meant as an accusation, not meant in surprise or in jest. Houtarou states the fact and Satoshi confirms it.

Houtarou blinks slowly, at the side of Satoshi’s face that he can see, and he wants to say it. Can hear himself saying it.

Time slows down, and he says - _You left it til now because you were scared to tell me, you were afraid of what I would say. All these years of being friends and you still can’t bridge that gap that you think is between us - have you ever been able to?_

Then he pauses, and breathes out, and continues - _Or maybe you weren’t scared. Maybe you thought this was the only way it could be done. The best way to leave my life for the next four or five years, with a loose end._ And then his voice turns bitter, he lets himself get angry to make sure Satoshi definitely gets the point, and ends on - _This is just like you._

“Houtarou?” Satoshi says and the illusion is broken, Houtarou hasn’t let himself lose control and win, no matter how pyrrhic. He hasn’t turned himself into the villain yet - that position remains in Satoshi’s hands.

The boy is looking at him now, Houtarou feels like he had forgotten what Satoshi’s eyes look like already in the eons that he had spent not looking at Houtarou, the amber gaze new and foreign in his eyes.

“I have to go.”

It sounds like a bigger goodbye than it should be, and it looks to Houtarou like Satoshi is already stepping onto that plane, bags packed and smile adjusted. It feels final, a sealed letter, a carved sentence.

Even if Houtarou will see Satoshi again - tomorrow and the day after that and maybe, he lets himself hope, the day after that one too - he still steels himself for the farewell, the final parting, and says in a voice gentler than he thought he could produce “Alright. Have a safe trip-” and he falters, just enough for Satoshi to blink before he continues “-home. I’ll see you around.”

Satoshi smiles and nods, gives a wave. Houtarou isn’t sure who turns away first, but he knows neither of them turn to look back afterwards.

* * *

 When he returns to the clubroom, Satoshi’s absence painfully present, he’s greeted by the sight of Eru and Mayaka sitting together, hands clasped and eyes downcast.

They both look at him when he pushes the door open, just dignified enough to not slam it back into place, and their gazes speak volumes about the expression that he’s so tried to school into behaving.

He’s tired, he realizes with a blink. That interaction had taken all his energy up, Satoshi once again selfishly taking everything for himself. He sits - tries not to slump - down at the table and attempts at to wait out out the rest of the storm.

It doesn’t work.

“Where did Fukube go?” Eru ventures first, her voice all the right mixes of sympathetic and cautious and curious and Houtarou shrugs, refocuses his gaze on the book in front of him.

“Don’t know.” He says, the extent of conversation his current energy levels will allow him. Eru and Mayaka give each other looks and Houtarou pretends not to notice.

They all know now, anyway, even if none of them can voice it aloud.

Three is a horrible number.

* * *

 As Houtarou wakes up the next day, he decides something through the haze of the early morning and warm covers. It takes him around ten seconds of deliberation, before he turns to stare at his clock and then slams his hand down on it, shutting off the alarm.

He’s not going to school today.

When he’s awake enough and the hunger in his stomach has grown sharp enough, he drags himself out of bed with heavy feet and half closed eyes, making his way into the cold kitchen with reluctance. He pieces together breakfast and sits down on his couch, plate in hand.

The rest of his day passes as slowly as his morning, some of it spent on homework, some of it spent on his laptop and most of it spent as he is now - lying under his futon in the living room, staring up at the ceiling. He estimates that it’s almost time for dinner, judging by the slight gnaw in his stomach, but he ignores it in favour of staying in the fuzzy warmth.

Then, there’s a knock on his door.

Houtarou’s mind runs into overdrive as he tries to piece together who it is, while remaining under his futon. He doesn’t feel like talking to anybody, banking on the chance that it’s somebody who will leave after being ignored.

It takes him seconds to eliminate Eru and Mayaka as suspects; if they had wanted to visit, they would’ve done it as soon as school had ended. Satoshi is definitely a no, their last goodbye would still taste too bitter on his tongue for him to show up, even if Houtarou wishes he would, just a little.

That leaves very few options, and before his heart can plummet accordingly to his theory, the door opens.

Houtarou keeps his eyes closed, an arm covering them, and doesn’t move.

There’s a thud of bags being dropped onto the wooden floor, followed by footsteps that draw nearer to him, until the feet stop on either side of him.

Then, something heavy hits his chest, and he realizes and accepts the fact that the person is sitting on him with minimal reaction.

“Hou-ta-rou.” His sister Tomoe Oreki says, each syllable drawn out and measured perfectly. Apart from a downwards twitching of his mouth, he ignores her, hoping she’ll give up and leave him alone.

His sister has other ideas. She’s unfortunately never been one for doing what Houtarou wants her to do.

She sighs, and there’s a moment of silence where Houtarou is just hopeful enough that he thinks she’s going to leave him be, before two hands come clapping down on either side of his face. They’re hard enough to make his cheeks sting, but Tomoe’s hands are strangely warm on his skin.

“Hou-ta-rou,” she says again, more insistence in the word, and continues in the typical Tomoe matter-of-fact tone, “you’re mad at him for running away, but aren’t you just doing the same thing?”

Houtarou opens his eyes at this, moving his arm out of his vision to make sure Tomoe can see the look he gives her. She’s got that half-smile she always has on her face as Houtarou grimaces and tries to shuffle from underneath her.

“What kind of greeting is this?” He mumbles irritably, and his sister laughs. She stands up in an easy motion, stepping over him with a foot placed much too close to his face.

“Never fear, I bring an offering of peace. Dinner’s on me tonight.” She calls from where she’s standing in the doorway, hand on hip and eyes on Houtarou as he sits up and rubs his chest with another grimace.

Her words seem to linger in the air, nagging at Houtarou with the same obnoxiousness that all of the vague, roundabout advice she gives him has.

“Creepy psychic.” He mutters under his breath, completely unsurprised when Tomoe responds with a laugh. He lies back down to the sound of the sink running in the kitchen and prepares himself for a trying dinner.

* * *

 He hadn’t prepared enough.

The food is great, the taste erring on the side of foreign enough to capture Houtarou’s interest, and they exchange a few words about its origin.

Then, Houtarou gets brave and reckless, and asks “Are you back for my graduation?”

Tomoe smiles at him from behind her cup of tea and nods, taking a sip before setting it down on the table decisively.

“Of course! How could I miss my little brother’s graduation from high school?”

Houtarou accepts the answer and ignores the glint in Tomoe’s eye as she leans forward to pull at a strand of his fringe.

“And, I came to make sure you didn’t ruin everything I helped you build up these past three years.” She informs him, still tugging on his hair. He’s distracted enough with batting away her hand in annoyance to not take in her words fully, but when he does it’s with a frown that warrants more energy than it should.

“You helped me build?” He asks, almost irritated, Tomoe’s habit of being infuriatingly roundabout once again coming into play.

She nods, the constant-half-smile changing into something Houtarou rarely sees on his sister’s face.

“I’m quite proud of you and your Classics Club, you know.” She says affectionately, and Houtarou splutters, taken off guard by the proud expression on her face. It’s not like he had forgotten that Tomoe had been the one who persuaded him to join, it had just become something irrelevant in the long run - the Classics Club becoming something more than what his nagging sister had made him join at some point in those three years.

It sends a strange feeling running through him, both that thought and the look on Tomoe’s face, and he covers it up by stabbing at a stray piece of chicken, methodically cutting it in two with the prongs of his fork.

He doesn’t know what to say after that, the sickly sweet feeling taking over and making his thoughts sluggish. Tomoe doesn’t push it anymore either, something Houtarou also isn’t used to. She leaves the dinner table early, and Houtarou can’t find it in him to be angry over the fact she left it up to him to clean up. He almost prefers the sage and ambiguous Tomoe to this, this warm and wisened sincerity that he doesn’t know how to deal with, doesn’t know how to respond to.

He finishes putting away the dishes and goes straight to his room, strangely restless.

* * *

Graduation is fast, a whirlwind of emotion and talking and more emotion. Houtarou feels like he shows up, blinks and suddenly he’s standing, diploma clenched in his hand maybe a little too tightly, throat constricted.

Eru and Mayaka both cry, Mayaka furiously wiping away the tears as soon as they form and Eru bearing it with dignity and grace. As much crying as there is, they smile as well, beaming so bright it hurts Houtarou’s eyes and he pretends that the wetness in them is from the glare, not anything else.

Eru takes him by the hands and stares into his eyes while thanking him, on the verge of a fresh wave of tears. Houtarou just stares back, at a loss for words, but Eru seems to understand.

“Congratulations, Oreki.” She says in her Eru Chitanda, heir to the Chitanda fortune voice, and Houtarou nods back. She then hesitates, surveying him with teary-turned-observant eyes, and says “You can shape your own future.” in her Eru Chitanda, adventurer and best friend voice.

Houtarou feels his vision turn rosy then, and with his heart in his throat he whispers “Thanks.” Eru smiles at him again, a little sad this time, and turns away to greet some other classmates.

Then, Mayaka is standing in front of him. There are still tears welling in her eyes as well, but her head is held high and gaze strong. She gives Houtarou a stiff nod with arms crossed, which he returns, and they keep making eye contact like that until she closes her eyes and breathes in deeply.

Then, her eyes open again, stare intensified. “Oreki.” She says, almost snaps. “He fucks up a lot. Don’t let it ruin you guys.”

Houtarou can just acknowledge the deja-vu of the situation. They’ve been in this position before, one of them telling them that Satoshi is better than this, worth fighting for.

When it had been him telling Mayaka that, he had turned out wrong. He’s not sure how much he wants to find out if she’s wrong, too.

He nods and thanks her anyway, and they share a look that’s somewhere between understanding and friendliness and it sets the same sickly sweet feeling going in Houtarou’s chest.

Mayaka goes to stand by Eru’s side, lacing her fingers into Eru’s own and Houtarou manages a smile.

He’s proud of them too, he thinks. This Classics Club of his.

Then the final member of the Classics Club comes into view, after a day spent carefully avoiding him. It hadn’t been hard, Satoshi too caught up in goodbyes and farewells from all his friends and Houtarou sticking around Eru and Mayaka without anywhere else to go for their paths to cross. The sight of Satoshi surrounded by well-wishers and tears smarts a little for Houtarou, the thought that all of these people had known and yet he hadn’t figured it out, the thought that Satoshi hadn’t told him until yesterday.

Their gazes meet for a few seconds, and it’s enough for Houtarou to tell that Satoshi hadn’t cried yet. Houtarou would’ve expected Satoshi to make a scene, especially considering the circumstances, but he only seems worn out to Houtarou’s experienced eyes.

Houtarou thinks about Eru and Mayaka and his sister, about what they had said to him, and he thinks that he owes it to them to try. Just because Satoshi won’t breach the gap, doesn’t mean Houtarou can’t.

He makes his way over to Satoshi, heart heavy in his chest. He has the sense to wait until the crowd around Satoshi has dispersed a bit, and when the opportunity arises Houtarou catches him by the wrist and tugs him out of it completely.

Satoshi stares up at him, eyes wide. Houtarou tightens his grip around Satoshi.

They stay like that for a while, staring at each other, frozen in motion.

Then, Satoshi slowly melts the ice, and says “We’ve graduated.” in his mournful, joyful tone.

Houtarou closes his eyes and breathes out. He releases Satoshi’s hand slowly. “Yeah. We made it.”

The _together_ tacked onto the end of his sentence is silent, it doesn’t need to be voiced, but Satoshi does anyway, declaring “Together,” with a tilt of his head and a fake smile.

And then Houtarou realizes that no matter how final their goodbyes sounded yesterday, they couldn't compare at all to the actual final farewell. He opens his eyes again and stares into Satoshi’s amber ones, the world around him suddenly seeming too real, too vivid.

Satoshi offers him a smile, and starts crying.

Houtarou snaps back into action with alarm as sobs catch in Satoshi’s throat and he leans forward, leans into Houtarou’s shoulder and stays there, shaking. The distance between them dissolves like it always has, his surroundings pitching back into familiarity as Satoshi stands, hands grasping at Houtarou’s shirt.

“S-sorry,” Satoshi forces out between his heavy gulps of breath, “I’m sorry Houtarou-” and Houtarou knows he’s apologizing for more than the tears dampening Houtarou’s shirt. Houtarou gulps and brings his arms up to circle around Satoshi, pulling him closer and keeping him steady. It’s not forgiveness, but Satoshi isn’t looking for forgiveness. Houtarou doesn’t know what Satoshi is looking for. Houtarou doesn’t know what he himself is looking for, either.

Houtarou murmurs _please don’t leave_ , except it leaves his mouth as a strangled “I’m going to miss you.”

Satoshi shudders and responds _I wish I could stay_ , but it ends up as a breathy “Me too.”

Houtarou doesn’t let himself imagine the future where he tells Satoshi that he doesn’t want him to go, where Satoshi stays and they leave the halls of their high school with clasped hands and eyes towards the future. Instead, he lives this moment as intensely as he can, etching into his memory the way Satoshi is like this, burning and brilliant and scared and shaking.

They stay like that for the amount of time it takes Satoshi to remember how to take in a normal breath again, and then he breathes in deeply and breaks away from Houtarou. He’s still crying, eyes ringed with red, but he smiles at Houtarou and waves in the same, carefree way he had when they had first met.

“See you around, Houtarou.”

Houtarou closes his eyes before he can see Satoshi turn away.

* * *

 Tomoe drives him home and they sit in silence; both pretend not to notice the tears falling down Houtarou’s face.

* * *

Houtarou gets very little sleep that night - three hours and forty three minutes of it, to be exact. He’s kept up by a larger-than-life ache in his chest, one he’s not sure the origin of. It’s the thought of endings, of beginnings, of goodbyes and hellos and the constantly evasive middle ground he’s always vying for.

If he looks at it logically, he shouldn’t be this off-kilter. University isn’t that much of a jump and the thought of leaving home causes him little distress, the thought of living alone even less. He’s lived alone most of his life anyway, and he’d already made sure the apartment he’s renting out in Tokyo had space for any unannounced sisterly visits. Eru and Mayaka are both going to university in Tokyo as well, so Houtarou would have plenty of opportunity to see them. Really, two out of three isn’t bad, and maybe he’s a little childish for thinking that it would be possible to keep their group as tight-knit as it had been after high school anyway.

Tokyo isn’t much like Kamiyama but he'll learn, he'll acclimatise and move on. That's how it's always been - but back then, Houtarou always had Satoshi by his side.

There is an upsettingly loud voice in Houtarou’s head that says the only reason it had been that easy was because Satoshi had always been there.

In truth the only thing that is changing is Satoshi, but Houtarou realizes while lying under his covers in his pitch black room with shaking hands that the boy is a bigger part of his life than he’d cared to admit. Even if Mayaka and Eru and Tomoe still circle in and out of his life like they always have, it wouldn’t be the same.

Houtarou figures out around 10:20 pm that nothing ever will be. The Classics Club will be his no longer. Eru and Mayaka will not be there to tell him off for sleeping in class. Satoshi will not be a phone call away.

Around 11:50 pm, he gets out of bed and wanders into the lounge, shivering from the cold night air. He’s greeted by the glare of the TV being on and Tomoe’s figure on the couch, a cup of tea in her hand. There’s another one on the table, steaming hot and extremely appetizing.

Houtarou sits down next to her, picking up the cup and relishing the warmth it gives him.

“Want to hear a story?” His sister says as she turns down the volume of the TV. Houtarou shrugs, taking a timid sip from his tea.

It’s still a little too hot, the drink scalding his tongue.

“That’s a yes.” Tomoe says and Houtarou doesn’t argue. “When I graduated, I went to university in England. My friend had decided to go to university in Kyoto. I didn’t tell her until the day of our graduation.”

Tomoe gives him a meaningful look, and Houtarou almost laughs at the thought of Satoshi and his sister being compared.

“If this is a cautionary tale about how much you regret it or whatever, don’t bother. It’s not going to help.” Houtarou mumbles into his cup of tea. Tomoe smiles at him, shaking her head and shuffling closer to pull at his fringe again.

“Houtarou, don’t interrupt. And, for the matter, I don’t regret anything.” She tuts. Houtarou scowls but doesn’t protest any further, and Tomoe resumes her story.

“She was so mad at me. We didn’t talk after that, and then I went off to England and she went off to Kyoto.” Tomoe pauses, long enough for Houtarou to scoff.

“The end?” He asks dryly.

Tomoe rolls her eyes and flicks his forehead, shaking her head. “What did I say about interrupting?” and before Houtarou can say anything further, she sighs and clamps a hand over his mouth.

“Now, let me continue. Time passed, like it always does, and in my second year of university I went and returned to Kamiyama. My friend was also visiting at that time, and we bumped into each other at the gates of Kamiyama high. And do you know what she did?”

Houtarou wants to say _yell at you?_ but with the hand over his mouth, it’s clear he’s not supposed to respond.

Tomoe smiles, something soft and nostalgic and completely alien on her face, and says “She kissed me.”

Houtarou coughs very pointedly into his sister’s hand.

“We went for a walk after that, and we talked and talked and then, when we had to go back to our unis, we promised to keep in touch - and we did. It was like we had never fallen out. It was like we weren’t living on two different sides of the world.”

Then, the hand is lifted off of Houtarou’s mouth. Tomoe looks at him expectantly, but he doesn’t have anything to say.

“Well? Did you get the moral of my story?” She demands. Houtarou shakes his head.

Tomoe sighs, shaking her head. She puts her cup down on the table and tells Houtarou to do the same. He follows, reluctantly releasing his grip on the warm drink.

Then, Tomoe leans towards him and claps her hands on his cheeks again. Houtarou really wishes she had a better way of emphasising her point, especially since this time her hands are considerably colder.

“The moral is that everything doesn’t end after high school. High school students have this mindset where they think that after they graduate, that’s it. Everything changes. And maybe everything does change, yeah-” and she shifts her hands to pinch at Houtarou’s cheeks, “but that doesn’t mean things end. Nothing has to end, even if you go to different universities. Different cities. Different countries.”

Then, she moves her thumbs to the edges of his mouth and pulls them up in an attempt to replicate a smile.

“So, stop being such a sadsack, okay?”

Tomoe takes her hands away, picks up her cup again, and announces that she’s going back to her room to try and get some sleep. Houtarou picks up the hint that he should be doing the same, but all he does is pick up his cup and take another sip. Perfect temperature.

Then, he leans back on the couch and stares up at the ceiling, the light of the TV casting shadows along it.

“Maybe I really do have a creepy psychic as a sister.”

* * *

 He falls asleep on the couch and wakes up to a Tomoe gently shaking him. There’s a blanket cast over him and it reminds him of when he had been younger and his sister had been constant.

Tomoe had been constant, and then she had left; that had changed things, but it hadn’t ended anything. Houtarou thinks he understands what she had been trying to say to him last night.

He accepts the mug of coffee Tomoe gives him and when he’s awake enough to squint at the time, asks his sister in the most venomous voice he can muster “Why did you wake me up at 7 am?”

Tomoe is making something in the kitchen, but she hears him all the same and says “It’s always good to start your day early, Houtarou! By the way, I’m not doing anything today, so if you have somewhere to be, I’ll drive you.”

Houtarou responds with a muttered “ _Meddlesome_ ,” and stands up to retrieve his phone from his room. In Tomoe’s story, it had taken her two years to reunite with her friend. Houtarou doesn’t want to take chances.

He flicks his phone open, blinking at the glare, and scrolls down his messaging until he finds Mayaka’s number.

 _when is his flight leaving_ \- he types out.

Mayaka, like the goddess of reliability and having one’s life put together she is, responds within ten seconds despite the early time.

 _about time_ \- she responds, and Houtarou figures he deserves that.

_10:15 am. gate 3. ill c u there_

_thanks._

The simple word doesn’t feel like enough to express the sudden, overwhelming gratitude he has for Mayaka, but he doesn’t think she’ll appreciate him waxing poetic about how much he appreciates her now, of all times. He decides to send an emoji and hope that it’ll get the message across.

_stop trying to be cool, oreki. just show up on time._

Houtarou sighs. He had tried.

He makes his way into the dining room, where Tomoe is serving up what smells like pancakes. She’s already sitting at the table, leaning on one hand as she watches him come in.

“Can you drive me to the airport around 9:20?” Houtarou asks as he sits down, trying to keep his expression blank. The look on his sister’s face doesn’t help in his quest, his mouth instantly trying to frown at the sight of Tomoe’s reckless, radiant grin.

“Of course, anything for my dearest brother.”

* * *

Houtarou arrives at the airport at 9:50 am and is met by a glaring Mayaka and a radiant Eru.

“Oreki!” Eru calls, waving him and his sister over. Mayaka continues to glare steadily at him, but her gaze softens when she sees Tomoe. It softens a considerable amount, in fact, and Houtarou gracefully ignores the way her cheeks colour pink slightly when Tomoe smiles at her.

Of course, gracefully ignoring doesn’t mean he doesn’t smile at the sight, a small one tucked away behind the crook of his elbow.

“This way.” She huffs, pulling at Eru’s wrist and leaving Houtarou and Tomoe to follow behind. They walk through the busy airport, making their way past security and towards _gate three, international departures_.

Houtarou pays little attention to his surroundings, despite having never been in an airport before and when a colourfully dressed figure, staring up at the flight info board comes into view, his field of vision only decreases.

Satoshi sees Eru first, it’s impossible not to see her first as she bounds up to him and throws her arms around him, tears already falling. Satoshi is taken by surprise but doesn’t push her away, and Houtarou’s sharp eyes can pick out the tears forming in the boy’s.

Mayaka runs forward soon after that, her expression a mix of anger and sadness and pride, and Eru pulls away from Satoshi to give Mayaka room to punch the boy.

Then, she hugs him, using his shoulder to try and conceal the sob that runs through her.

From beside Houtarou, Tomoe gestures forward at Satoshi, and Houtarou gulps, suddenly reluctant. Satoshi hasn’t seen Houtarou yet, but Eru and Tomoe are smiling at him Eru encouragingly, Tomoe expectantly.

Houtarou closes his eyes, steels himself for the third goodbye in three days, and walks forward. He’s the first thing Satoshi sees when he breaks apart from Mayaka, amber eyes going wide and expression suddenly struck, almost terrified.

Houtarou tries his hardest not to falter, and he makes it almost the whole way before he does - pausing a step or two in front of Satoshi, paralyzed.

They stay like that as the world around Houtarou melts into grey, until Satoshi is the only splash of colour, and he can imagine himself saying it.

_I don’t want you to go, but it’s ok if you do. I’m not even mad at you for not telling me anymore, Satoshi. Stop acting like you have something to be afraid of. You aren’t getting rid of me that easily. Not now._

Houtarou watches Satoshi’s expression change and he realizes that his mouth is moving, that he isn’t just imagining saying it. He’s breathless, the words are coming too quickly as the surge of energy in his blood pushes him forward, closer to Satoshi. The boy has his mouth open and he’s about to say anything, so Houtarou puts a hand over his mouth.

“And, don’t think that you can just dump all of our unresolved baggage like that three days before you leave, and then fuck off to America and never deal with it again." He continues, still breathless, still breathing. "University is a new start, but don’t think that means we’re ending, Satoshi. I’m not letting you do this again.”

Houtarou can feel Satoshi’s jaw clench under his hands, feel Satoshi get ready to pull Houtarou’s hand away and argue, so Houtarou pulls his hand away and kisses Satoshi, deep and hard and full of all the energy he’s ever saved up.

Satoshi almost stumbles backwards with the force but Houtarou catches him, keeps him steady. Within seconds Satoshi is kissing back, just as intense and passionate and forceful as Houtarou is and it’s a competition, it’s a change and a beginning and a farewell. It’s years and years of pining and of shying away and coming together - Satoshi’s mouth is hot and tastes like shitty airport coffee but Houtarou doesn’t care. He’s had a bitter taste in his mouth for the past three days anyway, and the feeling of Satoshi’s mouth on his makes up for that in plenty.

The distance between them has shifted for good, breached by an airplane America-bound and Satoshi’s hands curling into Houtarou’s hair as they break apart, panting. The taste of Satoshi lingers on Houtarou’s tongue as they press their foreheads together, noses almost touching. The taste is a mix of bitter coffee and salty tears, and it combines into the sickly sweet taste Houtarou is so accustomed to now, a taste of an emotion he finally recognises as raw, vehement longing.

They’re both crying, standing in the middle of an airport holding each other and Houtarou wishes with all of his heart that Satoshi won’t go, knows with all of his heart that he will anyway.

“What am I going to do without you,” Satoshi chokes out and Houtarou shakes his head, his heart in his mouth.

“You’re going to be fine.” he whispers desperately, “We’re going to be fine.”

And Satoshi nods, pressing another kiss to the side of Houtarou’s mouth. There’s an announcement from the loudspeakers above, and Houtarou doesn’t need to know the number of Satoshi’s flight to tell that it’s calling for him - that he has to go.

Satoshi grabs onto Houtarou’s hands for a few more seconds, trying to stop trembling.

“Call me when you land.” Houtarou says, his mouth suddenly dry. Satoshi nods and releases Houtarou, reaching for his suitcase.

He smiles weakly at Houtarou, the best he can do and Houtarou smiles back, whatever energy he has left in him dedicated to making sure Satoshi’s last sight in Japan is a good one.

“Thank you, Houtarou.” Satoshi whispers, his grip on the suitcase turning his knuckles white.

Houtarou nods wordlessly. Satoshi turns away from him, and before he enters the gate, turns back for one last look.

Houtarou waves and smiles.

Satoshi walks through and disappears from sight, and Houtarou lets himself turn away. Eru and Mayaka are both crying, Mayaka watching him with a fierce pride in her eyes and Eru with a soft smile on her face. Houtarou gets a look at Tomoe, who smiles at him despite the shining in her eyes.

He brings up his forearm and covers his eyes, trying to hide the sobs that erupt from his chest, tasting like honey-sweet longing.


End file.
